Slay The Spire - The Journey to Perdition
by Sgt-Sparki
Summary: After a perilous escape from The City's hideous torture chambers, they find no choice but to form a dark pact. But how are they to engage on a pilgrimage of madness if one is as treacherous and untrustworthy as the other? Yet. There is hope – For they long for one thing only: To Slay The Spire. Once and for all. feat. The Ironclad, The Silent. Contains cruelty, adult themes, etc


SLAY THE SPIRE

"The Journey to Perdition"

**Chapter 1 - The Dark Pact**

His consciousness returned to a filthy, mummified body dangling from stretched arms,

left with nothing but a volatile mind that had experienced a lifetime's worth of_ darkness_, _pain_ and _humiliation_.

_The Darkness_. The bandages that crossed his face were not the true cause of his occluded view. Where other beings were blessed by seeing the light, _these_ _eyes_ saw nothing but the _lies and truths_ in a world no other mere mortal could perceive. No matter where he would turn his head, the veil would cover his vision like a curse. But then, there were times like these where he would once again stumble upon this mind-bogging paradox of being… merely _blinded_… not blind.

_Blinded, yet still capable of perception_?

There was no doubt that the lack of logic and memories were only two of the many plights that plagued him. Regardless of the countless bandages wrapped around his scarred face and body, nothing made any sense, anyways. And whenever he would go mad and even smirk beneath his mummified self, something would soon rob him even of that _joy_.

_The Pain_. Time and again would his body be induced by pure agony. Forces would jag deep into him from all sides, lacking any consideration for mind and matter. It was metaphysical and true at the same time. And each time it tore into him, his mind would yet again enter the wildest of trances. He could scream all he wanted. _They_ would let him_. _

_The Beyond. Blue feathers— Memories, nightmares, premonitions, horrors, madness… _

_Images, experiences…_**too many** to count for a lambasted psyche to form even a sentence with a spine.

His thoughts danced. Words twisted into an endless mess of _bones, paths-bloodsplatterLaughterTheFiendishRunningWarpedFlesh_ — again and again, there was no way his ordeal could be described in words without one's very own psyche joining the joyride with _This Pain_. His body, brutalized and pummeled, would soon no longer withstand the horror. And with its failure came the _seeping flow_ from it. Whatever _this_ was, nothing could explain or describe _it_. Only the sensation of _something_ flowing from his battered self - no, it was being siphoned away… but for some reason, this _something_ would halt, then return to his puny hull that housed the abyss _the entity_ came from. Whatever this _flow_ was, it could not be blood. Again, would he feel forces attempting to tear _it _from his bodies, but _it_ would stubbornly return to his body. Then - He would yet again feel the series violent strikes of upon his mummified flesh, as if the voices around him would furiously scream in despair and hatred. A predictable result, though he had hoped those doing this to him would finally get what _they_ deserve. Yet, even with his approval, _they_ would not get what they desired. His vicious smirk would emerge for a brief moment, hinting his preparedness for the next abuse to come.

_Neither time nor dignity meant anything here. _

Whatever a sane soul was, it would had left such severely battered husk like his ages ago.

Or at least, it had tried to, several times.

_But how would any soul know if time did not care_?

_The Humiliation_. Needless to say. There was no respect for a mortal's bodily functions. The stench was as atrocious as the ordeal he suffered. _Without time's care_, food meant nothing. And yet, _they _forced soft masses into his mouth. Food of thought? He would never know. But this form of forced consumption was nothing compared to the_ sadistic abuse of flesh _he would receive by a_ presence_… a _presence _so vile and terrifying that it had branded itself deep within his mind. Clearly, he did not need to see this being to recognize it. And this being was not the only one who would let loose _waves of hatred and lust_ upon his chained body. However. Despite all the agony and abuse, never had he lost a single tear to _The Humiliation_.

And then there was irony. Just at the verge of finally breaking, the punishment would awaken his sharp mind from the ordeal, giving him moments of refuge to perceive his surroundings. _The Darkness_ obviously remained. There was no escape from this blinding void. And yet, as bizarre and twisted it was, this captivated husk of a man could _see_ the truths once again… albeit in a bombardment of mind-numbing, vivid perceptions.

Blinded, yet capable of some form of perception.

Somehow…

He continued to breathe heavily.

_Time simply did not care about any of his plight_.

Some form of sanity seemed to have returned. It is a moment of clairvoyance.

He knew of two things: This blindness was not his only curse. And he was _not alone_.

"Caw **Caaaaaaw**!"

That dreaded call. Then… _shrieks_? What was once thought to be the delusions of fever dreams happened to be the violation of others who had since experienced the same his body had undergone. _The truths_ grasped his senses like claws. There were echoing screams from beyond. Actual physical ones. Somewhere outside of this… chamber. For a moment, his ears could sense the _hollow _hammering_ claps_ from the living beings around him and beyond. His bandaged head slowly wandered to his right shoulder. Somewhere far beyond… he felt a draft… humid. The smell of humiliating waste was everywhere. His mind, regardless, continued to feed on.

_Fading_… Cries. Pleas… _The hammering in the distance fluttered. Now…Gone _… Remaining were only _those_ here in his vicinity. The noises all together warped into voices of people crying in fear… Then ones chuckling gleefully. The moment his mind perceived a particular metaphysical… _something_… his head immediately fixed upon the genuine source. He once again witnessed the entire process upon his body. But how was this even possible if he was not even the target this time?

For a short while, _The Pain_ deafened his ears. But he clenched his teeth and made labored breaths to do something he had never attempted before. It was a ploy, desperately strung together by his mind to overcome his matter. There… He could once again sense his vicinity. The frightened gasps of a nearby… _being_.

The clatter of metal. Soft wheezes.

The _sweet_ smell that hid beneath the many.

A captive being.

A female.

_When did she arrive? How long had she been here? Or… had she been here before him all this time?_

Her breaths were barely audible compared to the rest throughout the surroundings.

They were more like pitiful wheezes.

Probably like the rest of— His head briefly motioned around.

Lifeless husks of people.

Burnt smells.

Bodies with different exit wounds, exposed guts.

That metallic taste and smell of a thick fluid filled the air.

Feathers. A small room—chamber.

Rock. Plants. Humidity. Bone. Waste.

_At least, so spoke his senses and the taste of dirt in his mouth_.

These were _the lies_.

Massive, slated, heavy stone walls. Narrow. Chains. Cuffs… More and more of the _lies_ flew into the twisted mind of the hanging man, almost as if light was blessing his eyes again. It had to be. After all, only mere mortals would see the light and believe its lies instantly. The veil still remained but allowed his mind to attain a grasp of dimensions and depth. _The Pain_ was still there, but little did it know that he had yet again become numb of its existence. For now, the mummified man was going to have to accept this reality. There was no time to waste on how his mind was this conscious again. While devoid of sensing color or anything alike, it gave him more than enough to dissect the world around him.

Instead. His mind would focus on that particular _breathing_ of the nearby beings. Before this captive female stood not one but two other smelly individuals, just several steps away from his location.

_Laughter. Muttering. A short fanatical squawk?_

_Words_. More _words_.

Something was referred to the female below. By the noise of chains, he could sense that she fretfully tried to crawl away from the one that stood before her. He clenched his teeth. Blood continuously oozed from his nose and gum. He sensed the one of the _feathered_ beings approaching his position, pausing, then making way towards the exit. Naked feet gently moved upon the rocky ground - As did the myriads of feathers slipping upon the irregular surfaces. His senses became foggy. Dazed by the whiff of feathers, his mind perceived the greater presence leaving this region… Even the noise of the feathers dazed him.

_How could such presence cause such agony just by going away_?

The entangled man then gasped as he noticed countless claws… talons… plucking and tearing away from his body. One by one. It shredded whatever was within him with each step of the leaving being. Whoever this _greater presence_ was, it left behind the lesser one - A _disciple of some sort _that did not need to care about time, though certain about not wanting to give the poor remaining female any moment of respite.

He could not make out much of this feathered fiend. For sure, it was a humanoid being in some sort of feathery robe. The unusual silhouette hinted that his head was covered by a hood and perhaps a mask something that protruded from the hood, making it seem like a beak.

More _words_.

The mummified man would soon see the _truth_ being conjured by his _metaphysical_ chant. Easily perceivable as mere words in this rather stale and forsaken world, it was his mind that would sense the energetic strains encroaching upon the frame of the frightened lady. Clearly, these strains paid no respect to the dignity of her body.

He froze for a moment. Something was different now.

The dreaded sensations ripped upon his skin again. Different, distant, yet sensible and real. The chant, or whatever this lone feathered disciple sung over and over, was clearly incomplete and was nowhere as pure as the one of the former presences whom had long left this place. And as moments went by, the captive man was soon being violated by the same metaphysical forces that dug their talons deeply into her flesh as well. These burning claws stung him like the manes of jellyfish.

When she flinched and rolled, the mummified man suddenly noticed alien solid objects protruding from his body. Metallic. Twisted. Burning. His head immediately motioned downward. There was nothing. And yet, he could feel the twisting in his guts. It was a set of solid objects of various forms and lengths. They all were lodged in from different angles. Surprisingly, there was one that should have busted that particular vital - and yet, it hammered on.

He gasped and focused again upon the plight of the female.

More muttering. Words. More words. Something was referred to the female below. By the noise of chains, he could sense that she fretfully tried to crawl away from the disciple that stood before her. There was no escape. The entangled man sensed the actual physical objects protruding from her body and limbs. Having no chance to find an explanation for this revelation, the man clenched his teeth.

Tears shot down her cheeks. She cried and wheezed silent screams in pain. Despite what already was jagged into her severely bruised body, it now had to endure something no naked eye could see. Humiliated by the pain and what this feathered bastard was about to do, she desperately tried to crawl away. He approached her now rather paralyzed legs. Bandages covered her as well, but—

His focus snapped, as he could no longer ignore _The Pain_. _It found him._ He fought it, but there was no escape from the chains that kept his arms well apart. Having lost focus, _The Pain_ was encroaching on him as well. And this time, it flooded his body like never before. He knew now that he would not survive this surge. The chains clattered. He shook and shook until his body was surged by agony.

Outside of what truths his mind could still perceive, he witnessed how the real world was void of her screams. Where one would perceive a pitiful scream in the _reality of lies_, another one would be lambasted by a frantic _unworldly _shriek in the truth of the veiled plane, as his mind could truly perceive. Provided one were to ignore the sporadic drops of water, the distant agonized cries and fanatical chants, one would only hear the faint wheezes of air that escaped her lungs.

And yet.

Even her silent sobs shattered the silence in the real world.

Was he the only one who could perceive the shrieks?

His attention returned upon the vicinity, sensing the disciple's cautious step closer to the defenseless female.

The dreaded being whispered, "Caw-caw. Caw-caw."

And each time _this_ _feathered individual_ muttered these bizarre sounds, the poor young lady cringed in pain, oozing fluids that one could only match those of the other husks amongst them. There were no doubts that the words of this _overzealous disciple_ went right under the skins of these remaining prisoners.

The clairvoyance of the mummified prisoner began to crumble. He could feel how sanity was fading with each moment. The head of this stunned prisoner motioned towards the distant lady across this chamber. There was something he had not noticed before. One of her arms was free, using it to cover her face - frantically trying to hide it from the rest of the world. She cowered and cried in pain.

The man wondered if it was the exposure that was her true _humiliation_. The captive man easily figured that their _fanatical_ tormentors had since always ensured hope for their victims, only to tear it away by _The Humiliation_. The husks amongst them easily hinted this. But again, he could not form other sane thoughts as the fabrics of pain jagged in deeply into his flesh. Saliva and thin foam erupted from the side of his mouth. The pain was electrifying. And which each passing moment, the bandages began to tense to the critical mass beneath. The muscles flexed as he fought against the pain with every fiber in his body. For the first time, he felt that he needed to do the impossible - To embrace this fiendish agony.

However, this was nothing compared to what the _true victim_ was experiencing here.

The _feathered zealot_ continued to chant as the female before him cried more and more in pain. The more she gasped in utter terror, the more this torturer became fascinated with her plight. His physical hand was further away, but the metaphysical fabrics were like countless hands clawing bone and vitals. He kept on chanting and chanting. Now, the _twisted words_ of a _feathered beast _clawed deeper and deeper into her metaphysical guts. It was as if this dreaded zealot was achieving something fantastic for the first time ever. As if he was… _breaking in_… getting into whatever one could call a soul. Or… getting something _out_ of her. The disciple seemed anxious and overwhelmed, figuring that he would have to pull this through.

The tortured female's free hand trembled as it slowly slid downward. She clearly fought against this urge with every fiber in her body, clawing some of the bandages that covered most of her face. Tears would not stop running from her occluded eyes. The zealot then stretched his arm straight down at her and opened his hand, as if her were trying to grab _something _that was physically not there… Or… what was not wanting to come to him. The more he stared just beneath the region of her breastbone, the more he chanted and revealed that he was achieving something fascinating. Apparently, this was a result even he seemed too surprised of.

After several rather silent, random crackles…

The sound of a single, violent snap occurred.

She gasped, along with the sound air rushing into liquids… labored gargling… and all along with the mummified prisoner who hummed in severe pain and anger. Excruciating pain erupted from the left side of his torso. Each desperate exhale now shot foam of a thicker fluid from his mouth. Now, he was on the verge. As was the female.

The zealot, fascinated beyond everything, did not dare to look away from what he apparently long sought for. Or for what all his kind had sought for, for he was releasing something _unknown_ that was hidden inside her. The zealot, euphoric and bewildered, now stretched both arms out, welcoming _what_ was freed from what had to be some form of seal.

_Or was it_?

The chained man was not going to last. He could feel that he was coming to an end. He could feel how he was about to fall into a much familiar abyss. And there was something deep down that _void_ that he sensed. It was something he feared more than death itself. When suddenly, he noticed a presence out of nowhere. It was the female, gazing down her abyss as well. Somewhere, there was a feathered presence looking from far behind them.

_But. She was here_. _Next to him_.

As if time cared once again for the first time in an eternity since,

the mummified man now found himself gazing not only down at the _abyss_ he feared so much, but also sensing the female at his place as well.

That dreaded feathered zealot behind them knew nothing of what he was about to unleash to the world.

The _abyss_ and _whatever_ awaited them down there was ready…

Ready, to consume them.

Ready, to consume the world beyond.

Whole.

He sensed this same fear in her as did she in him.

Their motions, their fright echoed in perfect symbiosis.

The terror flooded them.

And for this moment, he now could sense how she was looking at him.

She said nothing. For she had no voice.

Her face was occluded by her hands that hid her shame.

Half of his true face was covered by a shattered mask, the other by his hand.

A single eye gazed between the cracks of his fingers.

The chains rattled. The ground quaked. Dirt and pebbles clattered from the ceiling to the rocky ground.

In a single beat, he then saw something.

A last desperate spark… of hope.

Her hands suddenly flung ahead, releasing her _shame_ and fabrics towards him.

Talons.

Every fiber in his body flexed as his drowning lungs released one long-lasting, hateful burst of a scream.

And with him…

Came the skull-rattling metaphysical _shriek_ of the swarthy female…

The feathered zealot stopped the chant and remained startled. Something had happened. His frantic actions hinted something must have shot right through him! Fretfully, he examined his whereabouts, only to find his body well and intact. The feathered robe showed no signs of damage. He then staggered a single step away, stopped and looked down at the female. His hand was still stretched towards the victim below. Many of his questions seemed to flood the chamber for a moment. Up until he focused upon the female below.

For several moments, not a single fiber in her body twitched. Not a single wheeze. _Nothing_.

_Had his overzealous desires gone too far_? _Had the chants yet again busted the physical shell_?

Her body then twitched, and her bandaged head motioned forward and hung downward. More twitches came from her torso, along with metaphysical fibers twitching.

_So, there was some life beating in there, after all_.

Her body was still pinned by the countless metallic objects. None were missing. Just when he assumed, she may had flung one and missed. No. They were all still there. A conniving female - that he knew. The zealot slowly clenched his other hand, figuring that he could proceed. Most likely, he assumed she was shattered and that he only needed to drag whatever he desired out of her. _Why care anymore for a shell filled with meat, now that the shell would not tear what he desired into death's realm_? And as he slowly began to pull, the fabrics tensed again, as did her body… and… her arm? Now her arm was stretched out towards him. The hand trembling, wide open. For sure, a futile desire of choking the life out of him. Hollow chuckles came from the hooded individual. He could see it amid the fabrics and strings that had clawed into her torso. If only he were just a little closer so she could eviscerate him? Anyways. Little did he care or noticed the fabrics. There was no ploy to be seen, for they were all his. Of course.

He stopped his hand from ingesting the fabrics for a moment. His putrid climax was as imminent as her final wheezes and his breakthrough.

Her arm then slowly motioned in a faint circular pattern in the air. Her hand then grasped the air, forming a fist. And as her hand approached her body, the arm continuously wrapped around in the air until her hand was against her pinned chest. The zealot easily sensed the talons well hooked around the frail bones of her physical body. It seemed as if she was willing to tear out a particular one. Her occluded face slowly raised. Her mouth was wide open. Perhaps a desperate attempt to suck in final strokes of air. It did not matter to the feathered being. It was that simple. His euphoria grew as he watched her life slipping away. Perhaps this was her desire for a merciful death. The result would be the same, he figured, since _whatever_ was inside of was tethered to his grip. Pulling that particular tether, she held would certainly break another rib, perhaps even the quivering flesh beneath. The quivering became faster.

_She was ready_.

Suddenly, the oval form of her lips shifted into that of a saddened, defeated form. The zealot did not know what to make of this, other than easily sensing her true intention of pulling one of the talons out of her body. A last plea for compassion. _Hopeless, puny being, end it_. He could not see her face, even now without the other hand that did not cover it. _Who cared for her anyways_? Her head motioned down, apparently looking upon her chest. The zealot, thinking no further, clenched his hand tightly. He figured, a mere chant to empower the fabrics would do.

And just as he was about to make a final chant, her head suddenly shot upwards!

One hand remained on her chest - the other on the floor, clenched tightly next to her thigh, as if it was holding the same.

Her silent lips motioned, faintly wheezing words of which he only could read what was supposed to come from his:

_Caw…caw…_

Her vicious smile preceded the sudden jolt from her arm. At the very moment her silent words sung, the tension of the fabrics sprung into full energetic tension by an instant. The particular talon did its work… The sound of her shattering rib rung loudly, as did the chamber around him. Several chunks of stone imploded around them, almost deafening them as they collapsed. Segments of disfigured chains rattled upon the ground.

_What was this nonsense?,_ the zealot wondered.

Catching his senses, he figured he should just pull them all at once. Right now!

_Enough of this_!

The sound of rattling chains still rung behind the zealot. Just as he was about to pull in the rest of the fabrics, he suddenly froze. He gazed upon the smirking victim below as her blood soaked the bandages upon her chest. _How was she still alive after all this_? Her body twitched awkwardly, again and again. She raised her other hand, the one that was meaningless. That smirk. Her jolting shoulders…

_Silent chuckles?_

_W-Where did those fabrics come from_?

Indeed. Out of nowhere, tethers appeared well tangled in her hands. The zealous disciple sensed these were the same ones from him. But they had been invisible to his senses... until now. The dreaded female opened her hand, letting the metaphysical strings slowly flop down. Strangely, they were connected not only to her body, as did the others - but also went on beyond him is side. The zealot followed the path of the fabrics that went just past his side… and as he did, he then noticed the hoarse grunts coming from behind.

His view fell upon the sole mummified prisoner, whom he had ignored since. But now, that particularly bleeding prisoner was taller, stronger… furious. Among the zealot were various craters, along with loose metaphysical fabrics! He could see that certain talons were not only hooked to his body but had also been to his surroundings. He was bleeding intensively, as was the female prior. He then noticed another talon falling to the ground, along with a set of warped chain, twisting around like the body of a headless snake.

His right battered side was **free**!

And that was all that prisoner needed…

Just as the zealot noticed this, the mummified hulk ripped something from his body and swung it violently right at the zealot - A tethered talon! _The speed, the energy, how did it manage to—_? It zapped right past the zealot's side, flashing a cloud of feathers. The sound of crushing stone and rattling chains occurred as the metaphysical talon smashed in somewhere behind the feathered individual. Letting not even a beat elude, the zealot howled, "Caw-caw!", and with it, the intensive explosion of metaphysical energy.

But the zealot froze.

The mummified hulking man was still there! None of hooked talons exploded!

_Why were his tethers not bursting that man's body into a cloudy pulp of blood and bone_?

The zealot then heard rattling chains from behind. A quick, sharp gaze towards the rear revealed a cloud of dust clearing. The twisted chain segments fell to the ground, along with whatever other invisible contraptions that had first held the female captive. The zealot stared upon the young lady; whose body had a variety of tethers emerging from her body. The rate of wheezes intensified with each moment. She drooled… viciously... Each exhale flung saliva from her teeth.

_How is she still alive!?_

Blood oozed from her already soaked bandages. Her body was like an endless source of the vital liquid. Her rather frail body twitched and trembled as she began to raise herself from the dead husks amongst this chamber. Tethers that pulled limbs caused dirt and pebbles to fall from the respective walls of the chamber. Now, the zealot could see that some of his tethers along with unusual ones were pulling her limbs upwards Her stilted legs wobbled like a strung automaton of terrible craftsmanship. Animated. Shaking. An usual assimilation He sensed tethers within her body, tangled around her vitals. _Too much to know, too much to see_! He lost the initiative as she now fervently threw her other grasping hand upwards. The zealot figured it was another tether! Finding no other reason to even let her react, he fervently swung around, motioning his tethering hand in a short, mystical pattern. A metaphysical cloud of purple energies engulfed his limb, and as this occurred, the zealot felt the surge now strengthening both tethers and grip.

_**T-Tear! Them! Apart! **_

_So be it_!

That is all that ran through the zealot's mind.

"Caw-**CAW**!-HHRRUGH!", the zealot erupted.

Time flew slowly as feathered fiend's senses went amok. The ends of tethers flopped wildly around on the floor like tentacles… next to a hand, a mere forearm with shreds of skin and a cloud of blood and feathers. Feathers… everywhere. The hand and whatever it was attached to met the floor. Howling in pain and an entire arm less, the devastated zealot staggered awkwardly away from the standing female and desperately held his hand on the gushing stump. His palm could not stop the flow. The empowered pull had not only torn his upper limb away, it has also torn the key segments of the walls, severing the links between captivity…and freedom. Everything he had done was twisted, convoluted and corrupted!

_Oh no… If she was unchained… so was…_

Just a crushing bash later…

The severely injured zealot suddenly found himself against the wall. Something had violently bashed his head and shoulder just a moment ago. His blurred vision made it difficult to make out much of his surroundings. Without warning, he heard the sound of a boulder being hurled to the ground. Shattered rock flung from the impact zone. Debris hit his face. The zealot rolled once along the wall, not believing his scraped eyes.

He spotted the mummified man's holding his position as he apparently had just missed the female. At the end of his arm was his shackled wrist hanging on a chain that ended at a boulder. It seemed that this man was constrained by ordinary means. _I-Imbe—ciles_…, the zealot muttered, perhaps referring not to these monsters in particular. But this did not matter.

The female, motioning around like a puppet with missing strings, had a weapon in her hand. It was dagger-like, stained, waved and very thin. Clearly, she had pulled it out from one of the many sacrificial punctures. The fight would go on for several moments. His blurry vision made it hard to determine who was actually going to remain standing, for both were severely wounded, robbed of all strength, frantic. _How were they still alive after all of this_? The mummified man was too slow, and his flexing muscles certainly hindered any dexterous intentions. She was too weak to dodge anything. She suddenly kicked the mummified man, then slashed downward, missing him only slightly. Though sluggish, he retaliated by a fist to her abdomen. She awkwardly walked backwards until she met the other wall. The strange dagger fell to the ground, as did she to her knees. The blow had robbed her of her remaining strength. This did not rob her of her determination.

The mummified man, lost in step, moved backwards until he blindly stumbled over the incapacitated zealot. That bloody zealot had slipped down to floor and the damn boulder did not make it easier. The hulking man was exposed, exhausted, as if not living with a death wish was enough. When the mummified hulk looked up, he noticed that the dreaded female was ready for the ultimate assault as she ferociously grabbed the dagger. His _unworldly rage _was fading. His body was returning to its original state_. _

They were not far from each other at all. She was easily within range of his awkward _rocky ball and chain_, with more than enough spacing for him to swing it around_. _

All _**he**_ had to do was just heave it one last time and obliterate her.

It did not matter where. Skull, back, arm, anything would shatter every bone and expunge her body of whatever vital entity.

That is all _he_ wanted.

All _**she**_ had to do was just crawl ahead fast enough and inject the dagger into whatever his dreaded eye was.

That is all it took.

That is all she wanted.

She heaved the dagger high as she slowly crawled closer. She wheezed, as the other daggers in her body made it difficult for her to move forward. Each crawl upon the floor pulled the grips of the other daggers, certainly making it a painful endeavor. But life just kept going somehow. None of the two really cared for how the other was still alive. All that mattered was the death wish for either one. Just as he wanted to swing his chained arm, he suddenly noticed that the talons were still hooked into his flesh… still under her control somehow, somewhat! His arm was practically anchored to the ground. This would cost him more than the strength that remained.

This was not good.

She froze for a moment. The rest of few bandages had fallen from her head. She desperately tried to hide her face with her other hand. After three hateful hisses, she tried to stand up. But likewise, her legs could no longer handle it. She fell forward on her stomach, digging the sharp objects more than deep enough into her body. The remaining tethers that carried her faded away.

So did the ones that kept his arm down. Unfortunately, the talons had tainted the muscles for too long, robbing him of whatever power it had left.

Now, he was doomed.

The young woman now began an erratic, agonizing crawl forward. She simply could not release her hand from her face. She slithered forward, dragging her numb legs as she used the dagger as a pin to pull herself forward. Her elbows scrapped upon the sharp floor. This did not matter. She wanted that mummified man dead. And there was no escape.

His other free hand soon motioned to the side, trying to find something to bash her damn skull once she'd be in range. It was likely that both were not going to survive this.

She reached his legs and slithered and very slowly climbed upon him. Frail. Tired. She could stab him right now, many times - but no, it had to be his head.

"Stubborn, isn't she" - his voice echoed in his mind.

Strange, that was not his voice intentionally.

For a moment, his eye looked beyond the lies of reality, noticing that some energetic tethering was still vivid inside of her. It seemed these were keeping her mortal vitals alive and beating. He had no clue as to where the blood was coming from. Likewise, the blood oozing from his severely injured body was slowing down as well. There was no time to be looking for answers.

By now, he figured that climbing upon him was robbing her of strength as well. She knew she would not have enough rage to heave the dagger one more time. He watched the tip of the dagger as she held it high. Now, he felt how their mutual presences were sapping each other's strengths. If one were to fail, the other would continue. She continually kept one palm on her face as she awkwardly climbed closer, encroaching upon him.

Just one more time… There…

Like a scorpion, the dagger was high and ready. But it hovered right there.

Why did she stop?

His eye and face slowly motioned - if not jolted - towards the side and then to her.

He was… _hinting_ at something.

Gazing to the side, she witnessed how the muscular man had a firm grasp around the neck the zealot. His arm was certainly strong enough to snap it in two. The zealot was still alive!

She became uneasy. The wheezes, irregular. She was startled by a mere weakness she had least expected.

_Choice_.

This was the first time the mummified man was able to examine this being closely for the moment.

She was that of a young, swarthy woman, although most of her skin was ashen-pale. Bandages obscured most of her body. It was impossible to make out her face as it remained obscured by a hand a what remained of the bandages. Scruffy black and brown hair… an open wound that still had some blood oozing out from it. Despite his urge to kill her right now, it seemed as if they both had the same question as to why they were still able to survive these devastating injuries. Their lives were slipping away, but clearly, they should have been dead ever since. However, he did figure one thing: It seemed as if she had understood that if he killed this feathered bastard with his bare physical hand, that her vitals would stop instantly. But for some reason, he figured the macabre truth that they both would die, if he would. For some reason… _she needed to do it_?

Despite all those ridiculous assumptions. She had reasons. And he knew of it. She could not let this choice pass.

After a single beat, her breathing became elevated, if not more than ever. The hand with the dagger lowered towards her brutalized body and motioned upon it, apparently feeling all the wounds and punctures she had suffered since.

She first looked at the mummified man, then at the incapacitated zealot who tried to mutter the word of the crow.

This, however, was impossible to do when one's throat had been crushed. It would only take another tethered heartbeat of her own until she had made her ultimate choice. The zealot, frantic of this sight, managed to move away from the man's weakened grip. She could not allow the mummified man to take this precious one from her. She simply could not let him die mercifully in his hand.

"_Not. Like. __**That**__!" an unknown female voice echoed in the man's mind._

The downed man now could hear a terrible hammering coming from her body. The hatred boiled her blood. Soon, she began to slither away from him, slowly… then faster… for her vicious desire only meant for one - and one only. As she moved away, his head slowly motioned to the side, gazing upon the many bodies. For whatever reason, the beast within began to boil something within him as well. He was assured, she would not get in the way of these dark desires...

As for the zealot…

for the feathered fool he was…

He would not get far…

He would not survive this…


End file.
